The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (410 page)

Her mother looked up with a tired expression, a tiny woman struggling under the platter of food.

‘Do what, dear? Can you just …’ She nodded towards her shawl that was about to slip from her shoulders. Cara obliged and rearranged it, but the girl steadfastly remained in her way.

‘Scare the children. Grandfather’s telling stories again.’

At thirteen, Cara didn’t think of herself as a child any more, rather a second mother to her younger siblings. She tossed her hair haughtily, as she had seen the older girls of the village do, and waited. ‘Mother, are you listening? Why don’t you stop him scaring them with his stories?’

‘Yes Cara, I’m listening,’ her mother said patiently, ‘but your grandfather is head of this homestead and the stories are our heritage.’

‘But he’s telling them how bad we are, how we deserve our troubles by betraying the Gods. He’s scaring them, telling them how we’re lower than the other tribes.’

Her mother let out an exasperated sigh and handed Cara the platter to take in herself, hoping the weight of it would cut any argument short. The look in her eyes was so much like her father’s had once been. These days he wore the same tired, defeated looked that they all bore in these lands. It was hard to retain the vigour of youth in a place where snow could fall for half the year and slavers prowled the highways. Their hardy crops were only just a match for the conditions and life was a constant strain.

‘Take this in and get the others round the table. We’ve had this conversation before and there’s nothing more to say. Keep that temper of yours or your father will put you over his knee.’

She gave Cara a look that made it clear the subject was closed and turned to retrieve the rest of supper. The girl stamped her foot as best she could and returned to the main room. It was by far the largest in the house, a great roaring fire on one side and an oak table large enough for the whole family on the other. Outside, the wind howled, flinging handfuls of snow and icy rain against the shutters. Despite the fire the room was chilly with a pervading smell of damp thatch in the air.

They were eleven in total; three generations of noise and bustle. All the children sat around the eldest member of the family, a stout, bearded man of sixty summers. His rough, calloused hands gripped his stick tightly as he leaned forward to stare into the eyes of the youngest.

‘And now Nersa,’ he said in his deep voice, ‘why do we not leave the village lines at night?’

The girl stared back, a little fear drying her throat as she tried to reply. Grandfather’s word was law in the homestead and there were few who’d argue with him in the village. Even the others of the Elder’s Circle bowed to his judgement and his grandchildren respected rather than loved the stern man.

‘Because of the Saljin Man,’ whispered the child. She hardly dared to look up as she said it, so strong was her fear.

Cara snorted in the background and slammed the dish down onto the table, spilling a little food on the table in the process.

‘Cara, that goes onto your plate and it’s all you’ll get tonight. I’ll learn you respect for the food we eat, no matter how many hungry nights it takes.’

Cara turned to protest, but met her mother’s gaze as she did and her eyes dropped. A slap on the behind sent her back into the kitchen to fetch a pitcher of water but it was her pride that was smarting. When she returned, everyone was sat at the table, bar her grandfather. He stood behind the largest chair they had; a solid wooden armchair stained black with age and smoke. Only grandfather was allowed to sit in it and to the children it seemed as laden with majesty as any golden throne. More than once Cara had felt the back of his hand when he found her in it, curled up and asleep with her head on the high polished back.

‘Cara, perhaps you should be the one I ask about our history,’ her grandfather said angrily. ‘Are you now a mage? Are you so strong and brave you don’t fear the Saljin Man?’

‘Master Dorne says there is no Saljin Man,’ she mumbled, trying to stay defiant as she stared down at the reed-strewn floor.

‘Master Dorne?’ he roared. ‘Master Dorne’s a fool and a snivelling coward. You ignore whatever rubbish comes out o’ his mouth, the man has never marched even with the army! Master Dorne’d piss himself if you even suggested leaving the village boundary after dark.’

There was clear rage in his voice now and Cara’s parents exchanged a worried look, but neither spoke. Cara kept still, the spark of defiance cowed by his sudden outburst. Her father took her arm and shoved her down onto the bench beside him.

‘Cara, stop your nonsense now, it’s time to eat. Father, please don’t work yourself up, she knows not to take Dorne’s word over yours.’

‘Hah! You two are too easy on her. The child needs a firm hand or you’ll find her under a tree one morning,’ the old man growled.

He glared around the table, daring anyone to contest his words. No one dared to and at last he took his seat, opening his hands to issue prayer to the Gods. When he had finished they began to eat in uncomfortable silence, one broken by Cara’s younger brother. He spoke hesitantly, in a tone so quiet it would have gone unheard on any other day.

‘Grandfather, why do we pray to the Gods? You said they cursed us.’

The hush went beyond normal silence. It was a question rarely spoken, but the unusual mood and the foul weather had affected everyone. Now, though the boy was only five, it earned a smart clip round the ear.

‘In the name of the Gods what is this? Have I been deaf and dumb all these years? How can such ignorance have come into this home?’

Cara’s grandfather slammed his hand so hard down on the table that every cup jumped and spilt. As sad trails formed and ran to the floor the younger children began to cry under his furious gaze. Cara refused to buckle this time and met his stare, knowing what she risked but her stubborn streak waxed stronger than her fear.

‘Well, girl, you wish to defy me? Are you so knowledgeable the lore should be given to your charge?’

She swallowed gently, determined not to be treated as a child. Before she opened her mouth to speak, however, her mother spoke up in her defence.

‘Ozhin please, she’s only a child, she …’

‘Quiet, woman, were you taught nothing? For seven thousand years our children have never been too young to learn about the Land. I don’t think that’ll change because of one stubborn child,’ he growled, staring her down until she shrank back into her seat.

‘Well, Cara? Speak.’

‘I … I don’t think the Saljin Man exists. He’s just a story grown-ups make up to keep the children quiet. There’s no daemon in the woods, only wolves and bears. You’re mean, scaring Nersa and Drel, it’s not fair.’

He regarded her coldly, as if lost for words to express his fury. When he did speak it was in a way she had not heard before; quiet, slow and chilling.

‘Then please, brave warrior, go and prove me wrong.’

At this her mother jumped up, crying out for this to stop but he silenced her with a hand. ‘I’ll not be called a liar by a child o’ my own line. So arm yourself, Cara, and go to battle.’

He jabbed an accusing finger towards the drape-covered door. Naturally, Cara made no move, surprised that he’d even suggested it, but the flicker of defiance kept her back straight.

‘Well, girl? Go I say, or sit and think of the strapping that comes,’ he bellowed in a voice to shake the walls of the house.

When still she remained, Ozhin kicked back his chair with venom and stepped towards her to make good on his promise. A shriek escaped Cara’s lips and she darted away, rushing to the flimsy safety of the kitchen and slamming the door behind her. Ozhin took one more step and stopped, at last securing the reaction he’d been looking for. He returned to his seat with a grunt and gave the rest of the family a hard look before returning to his food.

Cara held the door firmly shut and tried to smother her tears, both of fear and humiliation. When the flutter of panic in her stomach subsided she realised her grandfather wasn’t coming to get her yet. He’d not let anyone get up until supper was all gone and there was nothing for Cara’s mother to smuggle back to her daughter.

She crossed the room to be near the stove’s warmth, sitting in a miserable pile beside it and hugging her knees to her chest. It was then that she noticed the door sitting ajar, a finger of cold creeping in to tickle at her toes and stubborn will.

‘I’m not afraid of the dark,’ she whispered as her courage returned. ‘There’s nothing dangerous out there – no wolf’s stupid enough to be out in this cold. I’ll cross round and bang on the front door, that’ll show grandfather how stupid he is to frighten the others.’

She slipped on her mother’s fur and wrapped it tight around her skinny body, then paused a moment at the door to remind herself there was no daemon waiting outside. She yanked it open and the icy air rushed in. It was savagely cold outside, bitter and biting now dusk had turned swiftly into night, and the ferocity made Cara gasp. Determined not to back out now, she carefully pulled the door closed behind her.

The darkness was almost complete; no moons that she could make out behind the brooding clouds, but enough scraps of light crept out from the house to show her the ground she knew so well around their home. Off to the left was the Kaszin household with their barn adjoining, and running from that house to her own was the fence that served as boundary line for the village.

The fence marked the limits of their Land after nightfall, a thin wooden frame that would keep out no hungry creatures but nevertheless was supposed to keep the village safe. She started off around the house, keeping to the middle-ground between the fence and house, but stopped dead after a few yards as the greater moon drifted out from behind a cloud.

Ahead of her stood a man – a man outside the fence! It was impossible to make much out as he was wrapped from head to foot in a grey cloak, as any traveller would have to be to survive the cold, but she was certain he wasn’t from the village. Aside from anything else, no man in the village would dare step outside the fence, even drunk they’d be too frightened. It wouldn’t be suggested even in jest, but how did a traveller find their way through the forest at night?

Hooded and cloaked, she couldn’t see his face but this was indeed a man, not the daemon said to haunt the wilds at night. He took a step towards her, fearlessly keeping beyond the fence, and she briefly saw his black boots against the grey of his cloak. The snow lessened a moment and she saw he was looking straight at her so she waved hesitantly, not sure what else to do.

‘Do you guard this village at night?’ called the stranger in a voice that cut through the wind without impairment.

Clear and crisp, he sounded foreign but a man none the less. She looked down to see that she had her eating knife gripped in one hand, having drawn it without thought. Returning it to her belt Cara approached the boundary line and stuttered out two questions.

‘How are you out at night? Don’t you fear the Saljin Man?’

A chuckle floated through the darkness to her muffled ears. ‘I fear nothing of the night.’

Cara looked down at the boundary and smiled nervously, the expression hidden by the collar of her coat.

‘I don’t believe he exists either, he’s just a tale my grandfather tells to scare the children. He’s going to strap me for thinking different,’ she added with an edge of misery.

‘His fear is a prison.’

She nodded at the strange words, suddenly hating the blinkered fear they’d been taught all their lives. ‘He’d never believe anyone would dare be past the fence at night, even he’s too frightened to ever do such a thing. I’ll call him, show him how wrong he is.’

The figure inclined his head, indicating the ground beside him. ‘Join me out here, prove to him who’s the braver.’

Cara giggled with fearful delight. ‘He’d be so frightened, he’d scream and wet himself like a baby!’

Summoning her courage, Cara shouted her grandfather’s name as loud as she could and hopped over the line to the stranger’s side. Her voice carried well over the lessened wind and in moments the front door of their home jerked open. Cara felt a flicker of victory rush through her shivering limbs as her parents and grandfather all rushed out, pausing for a moment before spotting them beyond the fence.

With a scream, her mother rushed forward, shrieking Cara’s name, only to be held back by her own husband. Grandfather Ozhin seemed rooted to the spot for a while, then staggered forward, crying out but the wind swallowed the sound.

Cara watched their horror with a fading sense of jubilation, the terror on their faces only increasing with every moment. The moment of shock had gone, now she saw her mother wailing and screaming in a heap, her father’s arms wrapped tight around her chest in a desperate attempt to stop her coming any further.

She looked up to her new friend for explanation. Only then did she see his face, the ice and teeth. Sharp eyes and night’s haunting music shrouded her from the distant cries, dulled by a descending veil.

And then there was only white and the sound faded to nothing. The Land turned perfectly still and silent as the cold wrapped its arms around her.

‘Who’s there? What do you want?’

‘Oh it’s just you – both of you is it? Goodness, you gave me a fright. Well don’t just stand there silently, come and give your father a kiss. No, no; nothing’s the matter. I was asleep, that’s all – asleep and dreaming.’

‘Of course I can see in my dreams, you little scamp, I wasn’t always blind you know!’

‘Oh, you didn’t know? Well, all the same, I remember enough to love my dreams. I was just a child when I lost my sight. My fourth birthday if this old memory of mine can be trusted – a short time for certain, but I saw something of the Land at least.’

‘Yes, it’s hard sometimes, hard indeed. Makes my heart ache so bad it’s fit to burst sometimes, but I’ve lost less than most and I thank the Gods for that. I remember only glimpses mostly; enough for me to know what a house looks like, or a person, but not so much I weep for the sunset over the valley or the view from the Bale Tower.’